Perlustration
by CityofPopolac
Summary: Chapter 2 posted, an experimental smut story between a Doctor and Fiora, the courtesan. Fiora is offered an... examination. Please R&R. Rated M for content.
1. Chapter 1

**Short intro to a possible more-than-one-shot smut piece I am working on. I have many ideas for the potential of this piece but I'm going to post it in short pieces as I go along as feedback is definitely welcome. Chapter 2 is already almost finished, so enjoy this for now.**

This piece was written for those who find Doctors extremely attractive. I do not own any of the characters. 

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"Manca, please! Step this way, allow me to grant you your yearly examination!"

Fiora's intense focus was broken by the unfamiliar accent and tone. She turned to see a Doctor with his arms spread open within the confines of his town shop, obviously speaking to her as the group she had been traveling with was composed entirely of men. She did not approach him but stood watching.

"We are having special deductions on bleedings today! Or perhaps the apothecary is more your taste…?" he leaned his hands against his work table, gazing with black glass lenses down the cracked beak of his mask. "For a lady like you I am willing to cut corners on all rare stock."

"I have no interest in the arts of medicine," Fiora responded as she crossed her arms against her stomach, straightening her back to display confidence. "Your fancy words do not entice me; bleedings are a thing of the past and I believe it foolish for you to offer me such primitive procedures."

The Doctor did not answer in haste but only rocked forward slightly on gloved palms.

"Very well," he murmured finally, barely detected over the loud laughing and talking of passersby. "Then perhaps I may suggest you step into my shop for finer services."

Fiora's ears perked at the careful choice of wording and despite her deeply woven instincts she crossed the busy brick to the window of her caller's building. "What services do you speak of?"

The Doctor's prominent nose tilted downwards and then back up as he continued his trend of finicky vocabulary. "You are a courtesan, am I correct?" he did not wait for her to confirm or deny. "One of the best I have heard. High in quality."

"I do not wish to be referred to as an object-" she began to walk away in disgust, her hand automatically reaching for the fan at her belt when the Doctor briskly stepped to the doorway of his shop.

"Manca, please. I meant nothing of the offense, " he held his hands toward her in a stance of submission though for all Fiora knew the expression underneath could be one of deception. "Your career is one of great risk. Allow me to give you a free examination, to keep you well."

Fiora felt frozen in time. She had been short on income for many weeks now and the yearly physical examination – as it was for many – had become the half-a-decade visit. She decided the Doctor was delivering sincerity but she was at slight unease by the fact that he recognized her as a high class courtesan; she did not often visit the shops.

"Medico, I am taking your offer with great appreciation, but…" she did not realize how time had gotten away from her in their brief meeting, looking down the path at the sun-spattered stone pattern; her escorts had vanished long ago. What excuse did she hold now? "…What's the duration of this examination?"

The Doctor pressed his fingertips together in anticipation. "Only a moment I assure you."


	2. Chapter 2

Fiora was led into the small shop, the smell of herbs and medical equipment seeping into her senses. Memories of past visits to doctors returned to her with less than pleasurable emotional counterparts as her childhood was filled with infected wounds and broken bones. The tabletops were cluttered with glass jars of every color, sterilized tools and rusted weights. Paperwork was stacked in crooked piles on what appeared to be a work desk, smeared with scribbled handwriting and spilled ink. As she bent to read a report, the Doctor swept past and began to clear the large oak table behind her, glass clattering as he gathered jars filled with light green liquid. He and the room reeked of fresh herbs and flora.

"Take a seat on the table," he directed her as he hastily replaced his gathered items in any free space he could find on other surfaces. Fiora stared at him; a table? What was this, a brothel? She began to regret her decision. He saw her expression and laughed. "What would you propose I do instead, sit you in a chair and flip it upside down?"

Despite her disgust at the joke she broke her fair lips into a smile and stepped towards the table, touching it with her fingertips. Grooves were etched into its scarred surface, most likely from cutting tablets and plants. She traced the cuts before turning and lifting herself with her palms, sitting daintily on its unforgiving stiffness. Her stomach was sour with nervousness.

She watched as the Doctor crossed the room and straightened his gloves as he stood in front of her, his mask tilting forward and back, side to side across her frame. "Your complexion is without blemish or scar, that is a good sign," he murmured as he leaned forward slightly. "You are not flush with fever or pox." With two gloved fingers he gently turned her face to the side, examining her neck. "Your throat is not swollen or bruised." Placing his palm to her cheekbone he carefully lifted the lid of her right eye. "You do not require spectacles or suffer from corneal damage."

He moved to touch her chest and Fiora pulled backwards harshly. "Watch your hands!" she spat.

The Doctor spoke quickly, out of character. "You wished for an examination and I spoke clearly of what sort. If you do not wish to be treated I encourage you to take to the door."

For an enduring moment Fiora sat silently, her eyes slanted towards the rotting wood floor. At his inferring her endangered health and lack of funds, she knew leaving would be beyond foolish and could cost her her life. Illness came on so quickly those days.

"Go on," she permitted in a low and reluctant tone.

The Doctor paused before adhering, gently and professionally moving her lavender shrug without lingering and tugging the hem of her loose corset downwards. She observed as her exposed chest granted him no strong reaction; he discreetly prodded her breasts, squeezing with precise gentleness and calculation. "There is no scar tissue." He replaced her clothing to cover her goose bumps and lifted the bottom of her shirt, exposing her lower abdomen, belts, and skirt waist.

Then he stopped and tilted his beaked face towards her. "Are you feeling discomfort?" he asked.

"I am not," she lied. The enclosed room and sickening combination of sweet fragrance were a deadly concoction that was heightening her anxieties. One hand was poised stiffly on her folded fan, the other resting on the tabletop.

Gazing at her with expressionless black eyes the Doctor rested his hands on the tops of her bare thighs, the heat from his skin soaking through the material to her flesh. She held back a sigh as her heartbeat pounded in her ears, cool sweat beginning to form on her forehead. He carefully spread her legs, using the sides of his palms and his knuckles to reduce any hint of forcefulness. Taking one step forward he trailed his fingertips down the insides of her thighs, grasping the bottom hem of her skirt between his index finger and thumb and gathering it up around her hips. She complied without question, unable to tear her eyes from his blank, plastered face.

The Doctor reached under the crumpled blue material and tugged delicately at the sides of her underwear, sliding them halfway down her thighs. He ran his palms back up to her hips where they disappeared under her skirt and she sighed quietly when she felt the slick leather of his gloves against her stomach. Leaning downwards the brim of his hat almost touched the bridge of her nose and she could smell where smoke had clung to his cloth through the cover of medical herbs. With one finger he traced her and the muscles of her back became tight from her biological reaction, beyond her control, and she felt his unoccupied hand cup her thin hip. She felt as more fingers joined, outlining each shape and dip with precision, and she almost thought he was teasing her but realized it could have been projected, wanted.

Just as she felt her body aching for some form of rhythm the touch disappeared. She felt the soft snap of her undergarments replaced and the gentle patter of her skirt returning to her thighs. Her eyelids lifted with heavy reluctance as her blurred gaze found the Doctor, who was wiping his gloves with a stained cloth.

"There you are my dear," he said somewhat passively though there was a tremor to his voice. "Nothing appears to be out of the ordinary. In fact, I would have been surprised to have heard you were any form of courtesan."

Fiora's cheeks were burning with redness for various reasons. "Thank you," was all she could force through her dry throat.

The Doctor turned away from her in a strange hesitation as he crumpled the rag and threw it onto the desk. "You are free to leave. You owe me no charge," he added solidly.

Fiora slowly stepped down from the table and smoothed her palms over the front of her skirt, lingering behind the physician's wide back. In her mind she imagined herself reaching for his arm and her body almost performed the function out of her control, which caused her to rush towards the door irrationally. "My appreciation, medico."

"Yes," he responded blankly and did not move.

Fiora's feet felt like stone and it took all of her will to push out of the shop. Stepping out into the street, into the light, was almost sickening.


End file.
